Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
by Transformers 0
Summary: Here is an adaptation of the Original Movie! An awesome edition of an adaptation featuring deleted scenes, original dialogue, and character introspections! Rated K for now - may become T later (for violence).
1. The Rise

**Hello, fellow readers and writers.**

 **You are about to read a fanfic adaptation of one of the greatest movies of all time.**

 **The original** _ **Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles**_ **movie!**

 **This fanfic adaptation will include some of the deleted scenes and original dialogue, as well as some influences from other TMNT incarnations!**

 **Here we go!**

* * *

 **Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles**

 **The Rise**

New York City. One would think it was a metropolitan heaven. With towers reaching to the sky, and owning some of the most up-to-date tech, it's one of the few cities ahead of its time. But one would be mistaken. On the outskirts, the city looks placid yet lively, entertaining and yet business-like. But at the heart of New York lies trouble. A disturbing amount of illegal, and even brutal, activity awaits and preys on the unfortunate innocent.

* * *

 _"_ … _much more than just a series of small, isolated incidents – it's apparent that an organized criminal element is at work. And at the moment, business is good. So good in fact that there appear to be no eyewitnesses to any of these crimes."_

* * *

A young, 24 year old redhead spoke her pre-written speech to the cameras. She was a news reporter – and an investigative one at that. She saw the escalating crime, and though she had not been affected (yet), she intended to help the people of this city and get to the bottom of this. It wasn't easy, but she had started to pick up some leads.

* * *

 _"With complaints ranging from purse-snatching to breaking-and-entering, police switchboards have been swamped with the angry voices of more and more citizens who have fallen prey to the recent surge of crime. Instead of getting better, things have actually gotten worse. Even more alarming is the baffling and often bizarre nature of these crimes._

 _Merchandise of every size and description – from skateboards to stereo systems – have been disappearing from store shelves and storage areas at an alarming rate._

 _Even the victims themselves rarely catch a glimpse of the thieves. Many don't even know they've been victimized until it's too late. In fact the police have yet to come up with a single eyewitness. Only a few vague reports of young boys or teenagers at the scenes have been filed._

 _But whoever is behind these crimes, one thing is certain – these are much more than just a series of small, random, isolated incidents."_

* * *

As she moved onto the conclusion, she restrained her righteous anger towards the police.

Why did they just give up?! Having lots of stealth crime occurring isn't an excuse to shut down operations. Why are they so useless?!

The reporter wasn't a fan of vigilantes when she was only a child, but as she gained more worldly experience, she could just about sympathize with them.

At least vigilantes could be heroes who got the job done, when compared to the police.

But she knew it was her responsibility to not say anything too cutting and rash.

* * *

 _"Crimes without criminals? An invisible gang at work? Who're we gonna call?_

 _Unfortunately, the police are the only ones available to combat what some are already dubbing 'the silent crime wave'._

 _But perhaps the most disturbing silence is that coming from City Hall._

 _April O'Neil, Channel 3, Eyewitness News."_

* * *

"Gee, you've gotta stop working yourself so hard, April. You already look a decade older than you actually are."

April smiled at the compassion of her colleague. At least there will still people one could turn to in a crisis like this.

"What, and give up all this glamour?" she half-joked, "Have a good night, Shaun."

"Yeah, you too!"

As the young reporter exited the building, she spotted a rat scurrying away past her feet. She gasped and jumped onto a nearby crate. Oh how she hated rats.

Seeing that it had disappeared down a drain, she got off the crate and walked past a pond to the car lot where her Volkswagen van awaited. As she rounded the corner to the entrance of the carpark, she saw some adolescents breaking and entering into some cars. She tried to stop smoothly and back away quietly, but that's simply impossible with heels.

"Bad timing," the lead thug stated when he spotted April.

"You're telling me," she replied, turning to bolt.

"Get her purse! Get her purse!" one of the other thugs yelled as they tackled her.

"Get away from me! HELP!" cried the reporter before hands clamped her mouth, muffling her screams. But before the thugs could do anything fatal, a whooshing sound was heard and the street light went out.

Grunts and thuds could be heard, but no one could see what was going on.

"Whoa, dude!" a young male voice cried out.

April didn't get a chance to see her rescuers, for when the lights of an arriving police car shone at her spot, her defenders had vanished. Only the thugs remained, tied up in bundles. And… there was also… some strange looking weapon – imagine a very thick screwdriver with two prongs, each jutting out from the right and left side.

 _"It must belong to one of my rescuers. I should take it and if I manage to run into them again, I'll be sure to return it."_

While the police dealt with the thugs – shoving them unceremoniously into the back of the car – April hid the weapon in her purse. It was a neat fit.

* * *

Down in the sewers, someone with a red mask was thinking some pretty sweet thoughts.

 _"Our first major skirmish and here we are, standing unscathed. Our training has served us well. Our father will be pleased."_

Then he realized he had forgotten one of his weapons. Cursing, he snuck back up the ladder and took a nervous peek under the manhole cover. He was just in time to see the police car arrive.

"Oh man…" he muttered. Now he wouldn't be able to go out. Not when he could be seen so easily. He hoped that his weapon would be left alone, but he knew it was wishful thinking. He could only watch as the reporter packed up her bag – with his belonging inside it.

"Damn," he cursed, retreating back down into the dark depths of where he came from.

* * *

 **First chapter over! Second one will come! Please tell me what you think, my friends!**


	2. Our Heroes!

**I'm BACK!**

 **With Chapter 2!**

 **Think of this as a Christmas gift!**

* * *

 **Our Heroes!**

Down in the sewers of New York, a surprise lies in wait. A surprise that has waited 15 years to rise. Finally, they've made a move, and already they've started a chain reaction of events that will shape the city for the better.

"Dudes, we were radical!" a voice in the shadows stated, before jumping into a lit underground passage, revealing himself to be a tall humanoid turtle with two katanas and a blue mask.

"Awesome!" he rejoiced exuberantly. Behind him, a slightly shorter version wearing an orange mask and armed with two nunchucks grasped his arm.

"Righteous!" the shorter turtle grinned.

"Bossa Nova!" rang out the victory cry of the third humanoid turtle. This one wore a purple mask and had a bo staff slung across his back. The two leading turtles stopped and looked back at him with a _'really'_ look on their faces.

"Dude, Bossa Nova?" the leader in blue asked.

"Chevy Nova?" the purple-clad turtle attempted again. He only received pitiful sighs from his brothers. _"Ah screw it,"_ he thought to himself, _"Let's just do it old school."_

"Excellent!"

That got his brothers cheering again. With a whoop, the three headed for home. However, one still lagged behind. That one brother only had half of his weapons. The other half was above the surface in someone else's clutches.

"Oh man," he moaned. He was the one clad in a red mask, and his weapons were two sai. At least until he forgot one of them. He walked heavily, tempted to stomp and splash sewer water in his frustration. Up ahead, he heard his elder brother in the blue mask shout, "Give me three!"

His two younger brothers complied with their de facto leader, before excitedly jostling inside their sewer lair. He halted himself just at the bottom of the steps. He looked at his remaining weapon and cursed once more.

"Damn."

* * *

"We were great!"

"Shh! Shh!"

The leader went up to the teacher.

"We have had our first battle, Master Splinter!" he reported, ecstatic, "They were many, but we kicked a-ahem – We fought well."

"Were you seen?" the teacher, a large humanoid rat asked. The blue-masked turtle shook his head no. "In this, you must never lapse," Splinter continued, "Even those who would be our allies, would not understand. Our domain is the shadows. Stray from it reluctantly – for when you do, you must strike hard, and fade away… without a trace."

The red-masked turtle forced himself to speak. "I lost a sai!" he grunted.

"Then it is gone," his father replied.

"But I can get it back! I can get it back! I can!" insisted the red-clad turtle.

"Raphael, let it go," the teacher addressed his hot-headed child. The bulky turtle sighed heavily, and the purple one laid a hand on his shoulder, trying to sympathize. But the hothead batted it away – which started a shoving match between the two. With each shove, both brothers got angrier until their father snapped "Oi!" at them. Seeing their father and their blue-masked brother glowering at them, the two quarreling brothers broke away from each other.

Master Splinter continued, "Your ninja skills are reaching their peak – only one, truly important lesson remains, but must wait. I know it is hard for you here underground – your teenage minds are broad and eager. But you must never stop practising the art of ninja – the art of invisibility."

It was then that Splinter noticed that his youngest son – the orange one – was missing from the group. His attention drew to the phone box, where his son stood ordering a pizza from that place of blue and red dominoes.

"Oh, but no anchovies – and I mean NO anchovies. You put anchovies on this thing and you're in big trouble, okay?"

The teacher threw a hardcover at the orange one, and shouted "Michelangelo!"

Michelangelo quickly hung up, with "That'll do – and the clock's ticking dude!" as his last words. Then he turned round and joined his family, seeing his purple and blue brothers sharing some guffaws with each other. Splinter quietly shook his head, before continuing, "You are still young – but one day, I will be gone."

The purple and blue-clad turtles gasped silently, Mikey looked up in quiet fear, and Raph's face fell.

"When that time comes, use my teachings wisely," warned Splinter, "I suggest we all meditate now on the events of this evening."

The ailing rat took a deep breath, and was about to fall into his spiritual trance… when _Tequila_ popped up!

His eyes snapped open and flew over to where his two youngest sons, Donnie and Mikey, were dancing.

"Bada-dada-dada-dada-da! Bada-dada-dada-da-dum! Bada-dada-dada-dada-da! Bada-dada-dada-da-dum! Dada-da-dum! Yeah! Dada-da-dum! Hey! Dada-da-dum! Alright! Dada-dada-dada-da-dum! Ninjutsu!"

"Aye," Splinter sighed, putting a paw to the forehead, "Kids."

Raphael was busy dressing up in a trenchcoat disguise so he could head up above ground. His older brother and leader in blue – Leonardo – spotted him.

"Hey Raph, where you going?"

"Out to a movie," he said, slapping his fedora on before sarcastically adding, "That okay with you?"

"Yeah," Leo replied, unaware and unfocused on his brother. Raph rolled his green eyes and strolled out. The older turtle joined his two youngest brothers in dancing.

"Sock it to me baby!" Leo laughed, enjoying the moment.

* * *

 **Don't forget to favorite, follow, and review!**

 **Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!**


	3. Intro to the Pain Instructor

**Happy New Year!**

 **This is the first of my deleted scene restorations!**

* * *

 **Intro to the Pain Instructor**

Meanwhile, across the city, a 25 year old man was watching the news. How crime disgusted him. He was flicking through newspapers as if they were spy documents, scanning for attack locations, victims, aggressors, whatever had anything to do with the rising crime. After his radio stopped broadcasting the news, he switched it off and flicked on his TV.

He saw the news reporter and her broadcast from earlier, though he cared not for her name, but for what she was speaking of.

"So the police won't do anything. Hmm, typical," he jeered, before glancing at his equipment. Crime-fighters must always be prepared. He owned a golf bag, but not any golf clubs – 'cause Golf is a dull game. There were two baseball bats, a cricket bat, and a hockey stick stored inside.

He cast his eyes back to the TV.

 _Gee that reporter's swag – not to mention such a hottie. That's why I must step up my vigilantism! Fragile flowers like her need to be protected. For the people of New York, I commit myself!_

He flicked down his hockey mask, grabbed his gear, and exited his humble abode.

"Time for Casey Jones to come out and play!"

* * *

 **Casey was supposed to be introduced earlier in the film, but was cut for time reasons, I guess.**

 **Still would have been cool to see him before he battered some criminals, though.**


	4. The Dinner Beckons

**The Dinner Beckons**

Donatello skated through the dank, dark depths of his home. He knew exactly where to find Mikey. The grate near 122 Main Street was the drop-off point for Domino's Pizza, and Michelangelo would be making sure that their delivery services were true to form. The purple turtle spun and hopped off his board, effortlessly flipping it into his hand. "How you doing?" he greeted his younger brother, who responded with a "Fine."

"Nice night," remarked Donnie, gazing at the full moon through the grate as he took a seat next to Mike. "Mm-hmm, pizza dude's got 30 seconds," the orange turtle said, to which the purple one nodded his head quietly.

"Hey Mikey, you ever think about what Splinter said tonight? You know, about what it would be like – you know – not having him?" Donatello probed, wanting to see what the youngest turtle made of all this apprehension. The results were not what he expected.

"Time's up. 3 bucks off," Mikey finally said. Don just smirked and shook his head in affection. Oh, Mikey.

* * *

The rumbling of a motorbike died down as its rider cut the engine and hopped off.

"Okay, 122 and an eighth. 122 and an eighth. Terrific. Where the heck is 122 and an eighth?" he muttered, stumbling around the trash-strewn street. A voice below made him jump.

"You're standing on it, dude. Just slip it down here."

An icky $10 note was slipped upwards from the sewer grate. The deliveryman slipped the pizza downwards inbetween.

"Give me that!" both occupants exclaimed, relieved to get the trade exchange over and done with. The guy backed towards his motorcycle, but noticed a peculiar thing. "Hey this is a 10! The tab's 13!" he ranted. "You're 2 minutes late, dude!" came the smooth retort. "Oh come on, I couldn't find the place!" whined the grown man.

"Wise men say: forgiveness is divine, but never pay full price for late pizza."

The guy stood and listened. That voice that spoke with such surfer lingo did have a sagacious point. And the voice seemed to belong to a boy no older than 15 at most.

He finally just decided to honourably accept defeat.

"I gotta get a new route. And I thought I delivered everywhere," he mumbled, stepping back over the rubble to his bike.

* * *

Mikey held the pizza in front of the table, displaying all the inherent Italian awesomeness for his family to see. Well, most of his family. _"I just wish Raph was here to enjoy this! I'll be sure to save a slice for him,"_ he thought to himself before bringing his consciousness back to the moment.

"Yes friends – the new Turbo Ginsu!"

Mikey tossed it up in the air for his eldest brother to slice and serve.

"Hooyah!" Leo excitedly squeaked, whipping out both katanas.

"It slices! It dices!" Mikey yelled in his advertiser impersonation.

So far, so good! Leo might be able to actually nail it this time!

"And yes, it makes French fries in 3 different – !"

Splat!

A slice unluckily and unintentionally fell on their unfortunate sensei's head.

"Hmm, kids," the aging rat muttered.

Leo sheepishly put away his swords and Donnie put on his bib. Donnie never felt too old for bibs – he insisted that wearing one at every meal was a sign of good table etiquette.

Mikey had already just dug into his food, closing his eyes and savoring the slice.

 _"If only Raph were here."_


	5. Me, Myself, and I

**You can feel free to light your torches and arm your shotguns.**

 **I'm terribly sorry I haven't updated in eons.**

* * *

 **Me, Myself, and I**

"Ugh! Where do they come up with this stuff?!"

People ignored the obnoxious teenager clad in a trenchcoat as they filed out of the cinema. It was common knowledge to the citizens of New York that _Critters_ sucked pretty badly. But the teen's moaning was just overkill.

Raphael grumbled to himself as he strode out into the mild rainfall. As if his unshod feet didn't get soaked enough. And apparently this second-rate cinema only showed "antique" movies now. Damn.

He had just crossed the street outside Central Park when he heard a commotion behind him. Two human children his age had decided to play smartass bandits and had robbed a poor old lady of her purse. With a flick of his two-toed foot, the delinquents found themselves sprawling onto the uncomfortably wet cobblestone. Raphael eyed them with mock appraisement.

"Uh huh," he mumbled disapprovingly, pointing to his sai. Combined with the dangerous smirk on his face, this was more than enough to send the boys running. They vaulted over the brick wall and crawled through a hedge to find temporary refuge.

"What the _hell_ was _that_?" one of them asked. This was the observant one. Their attacker didn't seem to look humanly-shaped in the shadows of the night. Either it was a costumed freak, or a divine threat in the form of a ghastly physical appearance.

"I dunno," the other replied. They were interrupted a second later by the swing of a hockey stick to both of their faces.

"Now _that_ was a crime, you purse-grabbing pukes. And _this_ is the penalty!"

The masked newcomer whirled his makeshift weapon around his head, making his mark again on the children's faces. "Two minutes for slashing," he added, striking aside a hand from one who tried to resist. "Another two for hooking," he continued, slamming the curved end into the stomach of the other assailant. He readied his coup de grace which would put down the punks. For good.

"And this is the penalty!"

To the teens' immense relief, the masked intruder was knocked away by another arrival. The hardcore vigilante found his mask had tumbled off in the impact with the sodden earth. It would need polishing later. Right now he had another problem to deal with.

Raph took a moment to analyse the man's face. He looked to be about 25, and his appearance gave off an aura that hinted of alcoholism and late night action, whether it be through blockbuster flicks or smashing his sports stick into criminals' faces. Raph bit back the urge to spit in disgust. The man truly was like an older version of himself, and it perturbed him greatly.

"How 'bout a five minute game misconduct for roughin', pal?!" Raphael remarked. The now unmasked vigilante staggered to his feet, and gave an incredulous glare.

"Now bogey, who died and made _you_ referee? You did your job. Now get outta here, let me do mine. These two JV lowlives need to be taught a lesson."

Raphael was inwardly surprised to find himself inclined to agree. But he remembered the constant lessons of mercy that his father always gently reminded him of. Besides, children can and should be given another chance. God knows his father and brothers had given him many over the years.

"Not like that they don't. Not from you."

The jesting of moral compasses between the two do-gooders allowed an opening for the two hoodlums to stage an escape.

The adult looked at this and sneered furiously. "Well it looks like you're the one who needs to be taught a lesson pal."

Raph observed the man pulling out two heavy baseball bats from his sports backpack. The guy made the motion of twirling them with the completely obvious intention of showing off.

"Class is Pain 101. Your instructor's Casey Jones."

"Look, I don't wanna fight you," sighed Raph with a hint of amicable regret, knowing at this point they had gotten off on the wrong foot. Unfortunately Casey didn't share the same sentiments.

"Well, tough rocks pal."

Several rather intricate swings came at Raphael's way. The hot-headed turtle's lifetime of training kicked in, and he effortlessly sidestepped the attempts to strike, though not without noting that the man had some semblance of serious, accumulated skill.

 _"Though it wouldn't be enough to beat me,"_ Raph thought confidently as he caught one bat in his palm. He examined it with utter revulsion.

"UGH! A Jose Canseco Bat?! Tell me! You didn't pay money for this!"

That was a mistake. The grownup just got ticked off and used his other bat to ruthlessly shove him to the ground.

"It was a two-for-one sale, pal."

Okay, now this dude Casey calling him "pal" repeatedly was starting to get condescendingly irritating.

"That's it," Raph grunted, getting to his feet and grabbing one of the discarded bats. It was only unfortunate that in his furious haste, he failed to notice his bowler hat had flown off somewhere when he fell.

"What are ya, some sort of punker?" queried Jones as he watched the creature before him stand up. And here he thought he saw it all. But no. Some crook actually dressed up in costume not to fight crime, but to instigate it. The world these days…

"God, I hate punkers. Especially bald ones with green make up."

Mr Jones decided that it would be much fun to annoy the heck out of this naïve, do-gooder teen. Get the greenhorn to sully his innocence and draw some actual first blood, like a man would.

"Who wear masks over _ugly_ faces," Casey continued to egg. That did the trick. Raph charged forward with the intent to deliver a brutal knockout.

But instead the uncovered turtle found that the merciless vigilante could in fact avoid his strikes with mild ease. So he ramped up the intensity and the frequency of his swings.

"Strike 1! Whoa, whiffer!" the man jeered.

Raph countered by somersaulting over and swinging at the man's behind. The hit was golden.

"Home run! Raphael wins! One, nothing!" the ecstatic turtle bellowed. He marched over to gloat in the face of the prone and winded man.

Casey rolled away and simply shook his head to clear the grogginess. And then he pulled out another type of bat.

"New game, roundhead. Cricket."

"Cricket?! Jeez, nobody understands cricket! You gotta know what a crumpet is to understand cricket!"

Whilst he was preoccupied jesting with his wit, the red-masked teen failed to notice he had complacently stumbled into range.

"I'll teach you!"

 _WHACK!_

"Oof!"

Stars filled Raphael's vision as the world spun. Then he found his hat in a garbage bin… by actually landing headfirst in a garbage bin and smelling out the now-stained fabric. He grunted and groaned in heavy effort and vexation as he grappled to pull his head free. Casey chortled away, to his extreme annoyance.

"So long, _freak_! I got work to do!"

That. Was. It.

"Freak?! FREAK!"

* * *

Ronald Hevyweit was your usual middle-aged New Yorker cabbie. He had done it all, and witnessed all. He had transported all, too. From a naïve teenage female, to an obstreperous old man. So the nervous wreck of an overworked businessman sitting in the back seat travelling to the airport was completely and entirely nothing new to the old veteran.

The businessman (Josh Pais, his name was) was travelling back from a conference he had just finished in New York to be with his family for the Christmas holidays. He booked the earliest December flight possible to avoid being pinned down by the incoming winter snowstorms. Even so, he was still nervous about delays, or about being ambushed by criminals at a rather late time at night (even if it was only 8:30pm at the moment).

Right now, Mr Hevyweit had decided to strike up an easy and carefree conversation with his passenger, to help make his ride more comfortable, even if it was only by the slightest. It was the season of giving, after all. And Mr Hevyweit was, by nature, an amicable and compassionate man.

It was unfortunate then, that his attempts at pacifying his passenger were interrupted by two jaywalkers – or rather, two jayrunners – sprinting across the street in front of his taxi. One of them even slid across the hood!

This made Mr Pais in the back seat _very_ agitated.

"What the _heck_ was _that_?"

"It looked like some sort of a big turtle, in a trenchcoat," responded Ronald, turning to the neurotic entrepreneur, "Ya going to LaGuardia, right?"

Josh just nodded. He needed to get the heck out of dodge _now_.

* * *

This wasn't working.

The jerk was getting further and further away.

"Come back here! I'm not finished with you!" screamed Raph.

* * *

"DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMNNNNNNN!"

* * *

He got away.

* * *

Splinter wasn't called "sensei" or "master" just because he was a teacher and an instructor. He was a being so attuned to the foreboding tellings of the spirits beyond that he simply became aware from the sound of the splashes outside, the way the water puddles violently exploded, and the way that the resulting droplets rained down relentlessly on the narrow side pavements, that his second-oldest son was in a very sullen mood.

Raphael, Splinter knew, was one to conceal his feelings. Because he hadn't grasped the simple wisdoms and treasures of his brothers around him. How Leonardo, Michelangelo and Donatello relied on and reinforced each other so much that their bond was practically impenetrable. That only left the red-masked turtle kid locked out of the loop. And it saddened Splinter greatly that Raphael thought that that was for the betterment of the family, having failed time and again to reign in his unquenchable temper. Raphael concealed his feelings because he tried not to feel anger, whereas the others would open themselves to it, and each would let it flow into one another like a channel of solidarity, then they would all release it back out again. Raphael couldn't do that. Not yet.

Maybe now it would work though, after the distressing events that happened tonight. Splinter had also sensed his son's grievous aural explosions across the spiritual plane as well, and it worried the aging rat more than ever now.

"Raphael, come sit by me."

Raph turned to his master and father, throat constricted with rage-turned-defiance, and eyes glinting with despairing isolation.

"Couldn't this wait until morning?" the teen griped.

"You will listen _now_ ," Splinter said, a bit more sternly this time. His son did so, and so Splinter's tone changed to that of quiet urgency and parental worry, yet his raspy voice was filled with the gentle guidance that only a loving and caring father could have.

"My Master Yoshi's first rule was: possess the right thinking. Only then can one receive the gifts of strength, knowledge, and peace."

Raph's eyes flickered and churned at the last word.

"I have tried to channel your anger, Raphael. But more remains."

 _I know, father. I'm sorry._

The young turtle felt his father's gentle hand softly tugging his chin to perk up, just like it was when Raph was smaller, when there was no crime wave, no grief, and no isolation. Just love and innocence.

"Anger clouds the mind. Turned inward, it is an unconquerable enemy. You are unique among your brothers, for you choose to face this enemy alone," said Splinter, shaking his head slowly in sad disapproval, "But as you face it, do not forget them. And do not forget me."

 _How can I when one day you'll be gone, father? Will I ever forget you? Release you from my heart?_

Raph couldn't restrain his eyes from weeping any longer. With a soul overwhelmed by the blackness of aggrieved failure, Raphael curled up and sobbed.

He barely felt his father's frail arms gently guiding him into a warm and secluded embrace, but he wished that he could have spent the whole night like that with his father, if not for the fear of losing him one day.

 _One day I will be ready father. One day I will not be the weakest of my brothers._

 _I will make you proud, my father._

 _I promise, my father._

 _I love you, my father._


End file.
